


Little Bits 2

by genee



Category: Actor RPF, Music RPF, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-29
Updated: 2006-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:08:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small collection of v short stories. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bits 2

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plastiqueallure](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=plastiqueallure), [rikes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rikes), [aquamia](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=aquamia), [azewewish](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=azewewish), [coolwhipdiva](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=coolwhipdiva), [topaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/topaz/gifts).



> Sentence!fic.

for rikes: jc/justin, holiday  
It's been years since you've done this, since you've had the time to just take off, to just be together, just the two of you and the wide open white of the beaches here, blue-green water and coral reefs and you've missed this more than you have words for, missed the way Justin laughs when there's no one around for miles, missed the way he smiles free and easy and shakes the water from his curls, missed the way he gasps and moans and twists his hips so sweet, your hands sliding over the cool skin beneath his swim shorts, pulling him closer, pulling him in.

for topaz119: jensen/steve, tequila  
Open mike nights suck for tips, but Jensen doesn't care because Steve's here tonight, laughing and strumming his guitar, singing soft and low as Jensen licks his lips, listens from behind the bar, Steve's voice like sunshine and tequila and Jensen knows that's how he'll taste later, out back, cool night air on his skin and Steve's fingers sliding through his hair, calluses scratching the soft skin at the nape of his neck, rubbing his jaw, both of them broke and needy and way too far gone to wait until they're somewhere else, somewhere private, somewhere either one of them might think about calling home.

for plastiqueallure: jc/aj, disclosure  
"It's stupid to lie each other about this," AJ says, and JC murmurs his agreement, smiles against the warm skin at the base of AJ's throat as he licks his way down, fingers dancing over smooth skin, careful around the edges of AJ's brand new tattoo, another dragon, black and red and every bit as beautiful as AJ, every bit as true.

for coolwhipdiva: chris/steve/jensen, margarita  
Chris bitches about the margaritas early on, says they're girly drinks, says real men drink their tequila straight up, but that was before Jensen stuck his tongue down Steve's throat and wrapped his sticky fingers into Chris's hair, before there were empty salt-licked glasses scattered across the room, before Chris knew what Jensen's dick looked like up close, hot and hard and definitely real, flat against his belly and already leaking, before he'd tasted Steve's mouth for himself, all sugary and smoky sweet, because Chris could give a fuck about straight up anything right now, could give a fuck about anything except Jensen and Steve and what they have right here, right now.

for azewewish: jared/steve/jensen, wet  
Jared's not even sure how it happened, how he got pulled into this thing with Jensen and Steve, but he's not complaining, not with Jensen's hips grinding against his and Steve's mouth on the back of his neck, hot and wet, sucking a bruise way up high where Jensen will almost certainly see it tomorrow morning when they shower, see it and want to make it his, want to taste it and feel it and sink his teeth into it, into the dark red swell of Steve's mouth on Jared's skin, into the mark Steve left there just for him, just for them, because he knows how much Jared wants this thing to work out, too.

for aquamia: joe/music, not (necessarily) sexual  
Joe's house feels empty in the half light, dark windows open to the gray outside, lush greens and cool blues when the sun shines but it's been raining for days, the sound of it seeping in again like it used to back in the day, summer rains pouring down, humid and slick and everything so close, magnolias and smoke and faded blue jeans, scratch of stubble on his shoulder and strong fingers in his hair and it's not like that now, here, but Joe strips off his shirt anyway, warm air on his skin and his piano right here, right where it always is, soft rain on the roof when he sits down to play, bare feet on the pedals and his fingers on the keys and he tells himself this one won't be about what could have been, but it is, he knows already that it is.


End file.
